I haven’t had sex since New Year’s Eve, and no I can’t blame the Coronavirus for that. Before New Year’s Eve, I hadn’t had sex in over two years! I know, I know, let me explain though.
Being celibate wasn’t planned at all. I have been a proud slut since I was fifteen, but three years ago I decided to quit popping pills (Xanax and Valium mostly) and get sober.
A few months after ditching the benzos, I stopped drinking booze. That’s when my sex life started deteriorating.
It’s easier to get laid when you’re high and/or drunk; your guard is down, you’re more confident and much hornier. When you’re partying, you’re around a bunch of people who are as carefree, confident, horny, and wasted as you. In that scenario, it’s impossible not to end up in a condo that isn’t yours at 6 am and then having to hail a taxi home with sex hair and a ripped mini skirt. Walk of shame? No, walk of glory!
So once the drugs left my system forever, the iron fortress inside a moat with electric eels and snipers appeared to guard my emotions and my vagina. I stopped partying and started doing a lot of self-reflecting and inner work. I also started battling a lot of demons from my past that I had been trying to drown with substances. The Demons didn’t drown, they just chilled with the booze and drugs, biding their time so that they could attack with full force once my mind was clear.
But the no sex thing was not planned at all. I had no idea that the last person I would have sex with before I went accidentally celibate (does that make me an acc-cel instead of incel?) was going to be the last person I had sex with for two years. Thankfully, it was amazing sex. At least most of it was.
For our first date, we rode around the island on his motorbike. I ended up sucking him off in the middle of the sea. He wasn’t expecting that. They never are. All he had to do was take his shirt off to go for a swim and my mouth magically gravitated towards his penis seconds later. He had just arrived in Thailand from Germany and this was his welcome to Thailand.
It was the most scenic blowjob I have ever given, well one of the most scenic blowjobs since I did suck off a good amount of people on that island before turning into a nun. I highly recommend having sex on an island if you haven’t yet, nothing can top that. It feels like you’re in a high-budget porn movie with good cinematography. Very classy. So after the scenic blowjob, we jumped on his motorbike and I gave him a handjob while we headed back to my place to bang for four hours. Perfect first date.
He was even a repeat-stand which is very rare for me. We had sex a few times after that and it was equally as good. There was passion, we made each other laugh, and we kept going and going until I had drained all his essence and he couldn’t produce anymore essence to release all over my tits and face.
But the last time, the very last sex-with-someone-else I would have for two years wasn’t great. It’s wasn’t terrible, just mediocre. I had ended up on the repeat-stand’s side of the island to visit my friend and messaged him for a booty call. We planned to meet up at my friend’s hostel since my place was too far.
He came to the hostel, we went into a small, rundown room with no view. At least it was clean and free. I sucked him off, he went down on me, he rode me, I rode him, and then we had distant doggy for twenty minutes until he came. The fun and passion of the previous sessions were missing. We weren’t present and just going through the fornicating motions.
It was more like we were having sex just to have sex instead of because we had this exploding desire for one another. I was even getting flashbacks of monotonous married sex with my ex-husband as I was getting monotonously dicked from behind. No! Stop! I HATE married sex! I would rather not have any sex at all than have passionless sex. No wonder I ended up being a nun for two years.
That’s the problem with casual encounters, the expiration date on exciting sex runs out quick. Typically the excitement only lasts a few minutes to a few hours depending on the people involved. The fact that sex was still good the second to fifth time we met up was remarkable in and of itself. I guess it was pushing it to message him for booty call #6 in a crappy, but clean, hostel.
After that mediocre session, we pretended not to know each other on the street. That didn’t bother me at all, I was more bothered that I had marriage-grade sex. No matter, the next one-night stand would be better. Right? Oh, the next one was better but I had to wait a little bit for it. Just a little chunk of time, no biggie.
During the two years of not getting any, I sort of missed it but mostly didn’t. I was not finding anyone whose genitalia I wanted in my mouth, so that lowered my desire to have sex at all. My standards for who I would have sex with became a lot higher once I got sober. When I was partying and getting drunk and high, a person just had to be hot and have that special Wasted Connection with me. and that’s all it took to get it on.
The Wasted Connection is a special way that only wasted can people click: you see someone across the dance floor, or dance beach, you lock eyes, you smile, one of you dances/stumbles towards the other, you exchange slurred speech that neither of you can hear because the music’s too loud, perhaps you grind on each other a bit and call it dancing, and then you start sloppy drunk kissing with way too much tongue, making everyone around you cringe before finding the nearest area to enjoy each other’s meat shells without being interrupted.
Then you screw for as long as you can stay awake, once you think you’re done, you either you pass out or stumble home, never to see or hear from your Wasted Connection again. Sometimes you would even forget you had sex at all until your friends text you the next morning laughing, and asking how it went. These kinds of meaningful interactions were what my love life consisted of for a good eight years and I was content with that.
After being trapped in a marriage and monogamous/monotonous relationship for too much of my twenties, I value my freedom. I’m content with one-night stands. I don’t need or want a relationship and neither did any of the strangers I was having sex with. It was all going so well…until I got sober.
Without booze and pills in my system, I was having to deal with anxiety and depression without any crutch to numb the fear and pain. Being social was difficult. Friends that I partied with for over a decade started to become strangers. I could be social about once a month but even on my monthly outings, I wasn’t having Wasted Connections since I wasn’t wasted anymore.
I tried doing sober group activities like yoga and Muay Thai, but being around people was too much work. It was easier to just exercise with YouTube. I was the human embodiment of the Hermit tarot card. Social distancing? I’ve been doing that for the last three years!
Sober Time was time to face all my shit and it also came with surprise celibacy. And here I thought I was just going to give up some pills and carry on as I did before. I didn’t think it would lead to two years of monkhood.
So when I went to the crazy party side of Koh Phangan island for New Year’s Eve, I had no intention of getting laid. I wasn’t against the idea at all, I just wasn’t planning on it because it hadn’t happened in quite some time. I figured I would never have sex again and I was ok with that. Mostly.
Aside from the monthly hormonal horniness that comes with Period Time, I did not miss sex at all. I never purposely shunned sex and I was never against it, it just wasn’t happening. I wasn’t meeting anyone I wanted and they weren’t meeting me. I was more interested in food than sex. Still am. #teamfood
So there I was, at the Full Moon Party for New Year’s Eve, not expecting to get laid but low key wanting someone to at least flirt and make out with. The Full Moon Party is a monthly gathering on Koh Phangan where thousands of people from all over the world dance and get wasted by the sea.
There’s also drunken fire games with fire jump roping, fire limbo, and fire hoop-jumping.
Thai safety laws are pretty relaxed if you couldn’t tell.
It was already 4 am and I had given up on trying to find someone to hook up with. I was not looking but totally looking. There’s something about New Year and being at a party that makes single people feel more alone. Everyone was drunkenly making out around me with their Wasted Connections and here I was alone, not connecting to anyone. I lost my friends somewhere in the sea of sweaty drunk people, so I was off by myself, going back and forth from my friend’s hostel to the party, casually trying to scan the crowd for that special-someone-for-a-few hours but pretending I totally didn’t care if I never got laid again.
An Edward Norton doppelganger from Germany hit on me earlier that night, but he came on too strong too quickly. He tried to make out with me when we were first introduced. Had I been drunk that would have been totally acceptable, but sober me needed a few minutes. Once I had warmed up to him and had decided that I would indeed like to ride German Ed Norton for a few hours, he had moved on to someone else. Expiration dates.
The entire night was like that, I didn’t want anyone who wanted me, and anyone I wanted already either had a significant other closely guarding them, they were way too wasted to fuck anything, or they just weren’t interested. I just want someone hot, smart, with a European accent, who isn’t drunk or high and thinks I’m the hottest bitch they have ever seen. Is that too much to ask? Yes, it is.
But it happened! It was 4 am and I was heading back towards the beach after peeing in my friend’s hostel. The bathrooms along the beach were charging 20 baht (USD 0.63) to take a piss. That’s just robbery! I was kicking myself for not making out with German Ed Norton when I had the chance. So on my way back from my free piss, I saw my soon-to-be last sex partner, let’s call him “Charles” even though he has a cool name that I wish I could say here. I saw Charles walking with his friend towards the beach. It was an instant connection. A Sober Connection if you will.
I was like a lion hunting a gazelle or whatever they eat. The lion spots their prey and knows instantly they’re going to have a feast if they play their paws right. I’m a vegan and only eat live, consenting meat but you get the point. Two years after all. Take a shot every time I say “two years.” I probably should have started that drinking game for you earlier in this story but there’s still some time until I finish, you could still get drunk. “Two years,” just throwing that in there to get you started. Take a shot! If you’re sober like me, then take a shot of wheatgrass!
So I saw Charles walking with his friend. They stopped on the street to look at their phones, so I smoothly walked past them and then “remembered” I needed to stop conveniently in front of my targets and look for something in my bag. I made sure to stand right in their way so that when they started walking again, they couldn’t miss me.
Charles and his friend started walking again, and sure enough…thank the Sex Gods!…his friend saw me and made contact first. May we all have an amazing wingman like Charles had!
The friend asked to take a picture of him and Charles. Perfect! I took the picture and we started chatting and walking towards the beach. Charles ended up being sober since he hated the Full Moon Party. That was an excellent sign. He also had a sexy British accent and was good at banter due to being British. Perfect! And did I mention he looked like a model? He ended up being a part-time model but one of those cool, reluctant ones who think modeling is stupid but they like the attention and really need the money. It couldn’t have been more perfect!
We ended up talking for a good hour or so, and walking around the beach, avoiding drunk people who threatened to crash into us. He was super hot, very sweet, very emotionally intelligent, and not book smart but street smart. We talked about everything, from being an expat to Game of Thrones. He had the Jon Snow accent but had never watched the show. He was also abused as a child like me, so he understood stuff that only people who were abused as kids would understand.
That last detail is what ended up making sex with Charles one of the best sexual encounters I’ve ever had. It might sound dark to people with good childhoods but it really wasn’t. When we shared our war stories, the fortress and electric eels guarding my emotions and genitalia disappeared, the snipers sank back into the bog, my vagina was free for the taking! After sitting in the lobby of my friend’s hostel for a bit, Charles made his move. Finally!
We ended up having sex in my friend’s hostel, but not in one of the rundown rooms since there were all filled for the Full Moon Party. No, we had sex in the DJ booth right at the entrance, where we surprised a lot of drunk people stumbling back to their rooms. We were also recorded on the CCTV camera for my friends to watch later. I’m still waiting for a copy of that footage BTW.
It was fun, it was passionate, we laughed at the surprised drunk people while they saw us grinding on each other. The only problem was while I was bent over the DJ booth with Charles pounding me from behind, I had to take a shit so that was a bit uncomfortable because I was scared he would end up literally fucking the shit out of me. He didn’t, thankfully!
Once he came, he was depleted of all energy and couldn’t continue. It was 7 am after all. I didn’t come since I can’t come with other people. I still enjoy sex though, obviously. I think had I not needed to take a shit, I would have been able to come with Charles. My walls had been annihilated around him. The exchange of war stories helped me relax and feel ok with being vulnerable. I think it did the same for him as well. He hadn’t had sex in a few months before meeting me and seemed to be battling similar demons that I was.
After we put our clothes on, we walked outside in the harsh sunlight. I could see we were both drained so I decided to go back to the hostel, grab, my shit, and take a taxi back to my side of the island to get some proper sleep. I said good-bye to Charles. He thanked me and I thanked him. We both needed to get laid and we both had a good time exchanging energy for a few hours. It was now time for a Walk of Glory to our respective beds. We didn’t exchange contact info, I wanted to ask but I was worried that the expiration date would ruin things if we stayed in contact. I would rather end with a bang, literally.
I rode the high of Charles’ healing penis for the rest of the month. Things were looking up. 2020 would be the year of more sex. I was not doomed to be celibate forever. There were still great single-serving sex-partners out there for me to find. The dry spell was over! Right?
Cut to now, almost six months from having Healing Penis in me and I’m still optimistic. Maybe I will be that person who only fucks once a year. Quality over quantity. I’m not a monk, just sober and too anti-social to meet people regularly. It’s fine. This year isn’t over yet. There’s still time. Hey…you hungry? I’m dying for some vegan pizza. #teamfood
